Night Lights
by Wheresmekilt
Summary: A failed attempt at writing general fiction. This story is an AU starting from the end of the ALW musical, where Meg Giry finds the Phantom's mask. Sorry EM lads, or anyone who likes the Phantom. You'll see why. MegxOC. T for language and blood.
1. Disclaimer

So, yeah. I don't own the Phantom of the Opera book, musical, movie, etc. I actually haven't read the book, so don't look at me for Meg characterization that's Leroux (that's the writer's name, right?) approved. Yeah. Noo, the story.

Just to let you know, I hate opera. With a vengeance. I also hate 1800s clothing. With a vengeance. Thus, the AU thing.

Oh, and one more thing. Any blocks of text that's split up like stanzas and that's in italics, THEY AREN'T MINE!

Yeah, just throwing that out there. If you want to know who does each one, do your own research. I don't claim anything but a love for oldies and their writers, so please don't sue...


	2. A Knife in the Dark

She stared at the mask, feeling the bone-white material under her fingers. She could hear the shouts of the mob off in the distance, but her anger overrode caution. She nearly tossed the mask down and stamped on it, but she held off. Her mother had been kind to the wearer, so why should Meg not? She sighed, pocketed the mask, and searched around the lair for some sort of clue to where the Phantom had gone. She ran her fingers idly over a nearby mirror frame, and was surprised to find a switch hidden in the intricate design. It was still warm. Her heart pounding faster, she toggled the switch and stepped through the now open mirror. It closed behind her, scant seconds before the leading members of the mob reached the room.

She walked forward, keeping a quick pace. The dim light illuminated only a small strip of floor, casting shadows into the crevasses and niches of the corridor. As she rounded a corner, she felt a gloved hand clamp over her mouth. A second hand grabbed her wrist. She flailed backwards, striking her assailant. A startled curse resounded in the darkness, and she was free. Stumbling, Meg spun to face her attacker. The light played over his face, revealing the mass of scars and diseased tissue that made up his left cheek. She straightened up.

"You're the ghost." The man laughed, the sound tinged with both fear and insanity.

"Yes, little ballerina. I'm the ghost, and you have something of mine. Give it to me, or die." She pulled the mask out of her pocket. She held it up in the light.

"You want this?" The Phantom reached out for it, but Meg snatched it away.

"Explain first." Laughing crazily, the man balled up his right hand into a fist.

"First Christine, now you! Why must everyone-" he launched his fist into her midsection with each word. "TAKE – MY – MASK!" Suddenly, the blows stopped. Meg dropped to the floor, moaning in pain. A dark shape had replaced her as the target of the Phantom's blows.

"Where I come from, we don't hit ladies." The newcomer's low, angry voice filled the corridor, reminding Meg of a wolf's growl. The Phantom ducked to scrabble for the mask that Meg had dropped, but the shape above her stopped the crazed ghost. "Go. Don't come back." The disfigured lunatic howled with rage.

"GIVE ME MY MASK! I HAVE NOTHING!" Meg fairly screamed as a small blade caught the light. The Phantom stabbed the dagger deep into the man above the prone dancer, and twisted. A small grunt. Meg could feel drops of blood hit her cheek, could hear them patter against the ground.

"I warned you." He pulled on the hilt, and tossed the weapon away contemptuously. The Phantom stepped back, shocked.

"That was- you should be-" The low angry voice filled the corridor again.

"I should be dead? Another name on the growing list of people you've murdered? Who'd be next? This poor girl? This ends. If you have to press the matter further, I _will_ kill you." A gesture back down the hallway. "Get out of here. Start over, if you have to. Do what you must. However... if you ever take an innocent life again, and I hear about it..." The figure grabbed the Phantom's collar and dragged him closer. "You're dead meat." He released the smaller man, who turned and fled. The figure turned and knelt down next to the battered young girl. "Are you all right, miss?" Meg nodded and stood slowly, but she collapsed against a nearby wall. The man reached out to steady her. "Can you walk?" She nodded and spoke, rubbing her stomach protectively.

"I think so, thank you." She took a few tentative steps, and while the world spun crazily, she stayed standing. "Oh, I'm an idiot!" She turned back to the figure. "You've been stabbed! Come on, my mother will patch you right up-" The man took her hand gently and squeezed it once.

"I hate to do this, but I can't accept your offer. Don't worry about me; I'll be fine. Good night, miss -" He trailed off speculatively.

"Giry. Meg Giry."

"Well then, Miss Giry, hopefully I'll see you around." Meg stood speechless as the figure turned to leave.

"Wait, Monsieur-" The figure half-turned, and then laughed.

"Please, don't call me that. It's too... respectful for me." Meg smiled in spite of herself.

"Then what can I call you?" He paused, thinking.

"Well, 'you big oaf' is something I reply to quite often. However, as a name, call me Phelan." Meg smiled at him.

"Thank you, Phelan. I..." She trailed off and rubbed her arms. "I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't stepped in." He grinned in the dim light.

"You're quite welcome, Miss Giry." He stooped to retrieve the mask. It shone dully in the light, and Phelan considered it between his fingers for a second. "Odd, it is, that such an oppressive symbol would possess such power over a man. I would smash this, but I fear that he will return, and perhaps he will be prepared to reason. I'd ask you to hold on to this, but..." He shrugged. "No matter. Good night, Miss Giry. Expect to hear more about me in a few days." With that, he stowed the mask and disappeared in the darkness. Meg suddenly felt scared and alone.

"Wait – Phelan, wait!" He reappeared just as quickly as he had left.

"Can I – oh." He reached out a hand to the ballerina. "I'm very sorry, I didn't remember you were lost. Follow me?" The way he said it implied an option rather than a command, but she took his hand anyway. It was large, warm, and knobbly. After walking for a few minutes, they reached a dead end. Phelan turned and released the girl's hand gently. "I apologize, but here I must leave you. You should be able to find someone you know easily." He pressed a spot on the wall, and it swung open. Meg glanced back into the corridor as she walked through the opening, but the corridor was deserted. She sighed and surveyed her new location. It was lit fairly well, and as her eyes adjusted, she realized that it was near the ballerinas' rooms. She started off towards them, and found her mother a few minutes later.

Phelan released the ceiling slowly and dropped back to the ground. He looked up to see a few splotches of blood and a few indentations. Shrugging, he started back along the corridor. _Damn. That stupid-_ he broke off the thought quickly. Almost instinctively, he touched the wound. It had already scabbed over, and he could feel the flesh closing. _Still, it wasn't very nice to hit that poor girl. Meg._ He sighed as he corrected his own thought. _Seriously, man, stop acting like you don't care enough to remember her name. You can't lie to me._ A slight falter in his step marked the raging internal battle. _She's going to be fine. When you leave- we aren't leaving! There's too much at stake. This is a good place, its 'previous owner' just evicted the premises, and there's already a whole mess of tunnels._ Phelan chewed on his lower lip thoughtfully. _If we- I- live here, it's going to be trouble. Too many people, too many questions. Besides, the 'previous owner' killed people. It'll be hard to change that image. _He shook his head, angry. _That's why you have to stay. You can fix it. You can help that- Meg _and _restore the positive image here._ He finally reached the trapdoor he had emerged from, and leapt up. He entered the small overhead tunnel and crawled along, finally reaching a conclusion aloud, albeit whispered. "Fine. I'll stay, but no cheap shots about Meg. She was attacked, I helped out, that's all." He grinned as he noticed what he was doing. "And now I'm talking to myself. Great."


	3. Shady Meetings

The theatre returned to normal for a few days, until a chilling message arrived for the new owners. They had already considered selling the place, but the new note nearly caused them to pack up and leave on the spot.

-To the current owners of this Opera House,

Let me introduce myself. I am taking over the, shall we say, interesting job that was, until recently, filled by one who called himself the Opera Ghost. I, however, do not intend to abide by all of the traditions of this post. First off, keep your money. It is not money I want. Second, do not waste your time on searching the multiple tunnels that run beneath the house, nor should you attempt to block them off. I have ways of opening them back up. Besides, I can outrun you for weeks. Third, I reserve the right to veto any musical selection, or to change casts if I feel that they could be improved. Do not worry, however. I do not indulge in favoritism, nor do intend to do much more than watch. That topic brings me to number four. Do hold box five open for me, will you? I'd hate to toss some interloper out from that high up. It does leave such a lovely pattern, though. Finally, I'd ask that you give me full access to the Opera House, but since I already have it, it's merely a formality. I look forward to dealing with you again.

-A concerned music lover

The two men grimaced as they looked at each other, considering the possibilities. "Perhaps... perhaps he'll be reasonable. I mean, he says that he doesn't want money, so..." The second man, who was short and balding, looked at the first with pity.

"You don't remember the story of the Opera Ghost's first note, do you? It was about the same thing, except that it was less polite and far more threatening. I'll bet you all my salary this month that this 'concerned music lover' pulls the same stunts of the Opera Ghost. However..." The co-owner spat. "We can't make him leave."

Phelan sat in the small hallway, sweating. He grimaced as his eyes took in the spatters of blood that coated the walls nearby. He leaned his head back and groaned as he felt his spine return to its normal position. Picking up a nearby robe, he pulled it on and covered his nudity. Cleaning up the ripped and torn clothes, he sighed as he considered cleaning the walls. Finally, he shrugged. "Nah." The blood that seeped from multiple cuts all over him was another matter, though. It was time to find a shower.

Meg sat on her bed, staring at the wall. She was thinking about that man who had saved her a few days ago. She wanted to know who he was, what he wanted, all the basics. However, he was as elusive as possible, and despite searching the tunnels under the Opera House multiple times, she couldn't track him down. Finally, she stood and turned to leave. She was late for dinner anyway. "Excuse me, Miss Giry, but is this a bad time?" She spun, scared, as she heard that same voice from the dark corridor. Leaning against the wall in the darkest corner of the room, a man wearing a robe stood. Meg smiled uncertainly.

"Phelan? How long have you been standing there?" He shrugged, his face hidden by the shadows but his motion clear in the light.

"About as long as you've been sitting there. I don't mean to be an intrusive guest, though I might already be one. I was merely wondering if there was a shower in this building I could use." Meg raised an eyebrow.

"Excuse me? What is that supposed to mean? Besides, can't you get anywhere anyway?" He chuckled.

"True, I could, but finding the least used shower in the Opera House would take me at least a week, perhaps two. Quite frankly, I want to get this blood off of me as soon as possible." Meg's face went pale white. Phelan laughed as he saw her expression.

"It's mine. Don't worry, little lady. I'm not going around brutally murdering people, yet." Meg took a step back, fearfully.

"Okay, first off, yet? Second, you've been attacked?" He tensed at her words, but tried to pass it off as a joke.

"Well, yet because it depends on whether they decide to send me money or not." Meg frowned at the grimy and blood-covered man.

"So you're the 'concerned music lover'? Ahh. Anyway, what about you getting attacked?" His hands clenched at his signs, and the jocular note in his voice disappeared.

"Meg, please. I don't want to get into this. Drop it." She did, partially because he was clearly unwilling to talk about it, and partially because he had used her first name. She gulped, and stepped cautiously closer.

"I- I didn't mean to anger you." The flash of anger was gone, replaced by sadness.

"And I didn't mean to scare you, Miss Giry. It's just not something I'm going to talk about. It's too... private. Anyhow-" he seemed to shake the thought from his mind almost physically, "- _do _you know if there's a secluded place I could shower?" Meg sat down on a bed, a little bit out of arm's reach from the darkness-cloaked stranger.

"Well, you could probably use the old shower on the north side, by the owners' office. It's pretty run-down, and all that comes out is cold water, but it works." A slight chuckle resounded from Phelan.

"Eh. It's not like it's cold enough to need hot water anyway. Thank you for your help, Miss Giry. I apologize again for scaring you like that. Please, don't worry about any more deaths. I have no intention of taking a life. Ever. G'night, little lady. Sleep well." With that, he leapt straight up to the ceiling, and seemed to pass right through. Meg raced over to where he was standing, and looked up. All that she saw was solid stone.

"How in the..." A short laugh reached her ears.

"Well, I am the new phantom here." She shook her head and began to walk towards the door, hoping that her mother wouldn't chew her out for missing most of dinner.


	4. Spilling Blood

Phelan sighed as he scrubbed his scarred and aching body wearily. He'd have to come up with some sort of name for himself, before they began calling him the Opera Ghost as well. The whole reason for his being here was to eradicate the bad name of the Opera House, which would be hard to do as the Opera Ghost. It was hard enough to hide in the shadows. _No, _he thought suddenly, _it's hard to hide in plain view. It's easy to hide in the shadows._ For his entire life, he had hidden in the shadows. Now, for the first time, he had all attention that he never got as a child. All the attention that made it so much harder to hide. _Especially with Meg._ He recoiled physically. _What the- don't bring her into this. _Grimacing, he scrubbed hard at a patch of stubborn blood. _It's hard enough to rectify this whole situation without bringing her into it. Look. She's a friend, if that. I've talked to her, really talked. That's it._ He sighed as he closed his eyes. "That's enough. Meg Giry means nothing to me." The whispered words were drowned out by the drum of the shower, but he still spun and checked to see if there was a young dancer sobbing at his words. _Curse my paranoia. Admittedly, I need it to survive, but if she was watching, there'd be more to deal with than just those words._ He smirked as he shut the shower off and grabbed his towel off the grubby rack that held it. _You're an idiot. _As usual, he nodded in agreement with his unspoken pronunciation.After drying himself off, he pulled on his usual clothing of a loose black shirt, a pair of baggy slacks, and flung his towel over his shoulder. As he walked over to the door, he heard a faint whisper of clothing against the wood. Immediately on his guard, he slipped closer, soundlessly, and listened.

"I shouldn't be here." It was a girl's voice. A second voice, lower, but not by much, spoke next.

"Don't worry, babe. It'll be okay with me around. Let's go have a bit of fun, eh? No one ever comes into this bathroom." Phelan grimaced and opened the door. The two jumped in shock.

"You know, lad, date rape is illegal."

After putting the unwary pair in the hands of their _very _angry supervisors, Phelan strode off purposefully for the nearest entrance to the underground tunnels. He was fairly pleased. The only people who noticed him were the two youths, and they wouldn't remember anything but a scar-faced angry young man. Their supervisors were too intent on the two 'lovers' that they didn't even waste their breath trying to get his name. All in all, a good evening. Suddenly, he heard crying coming from a nearby hall. One that should have been empty. He turned almost immediately, almost unconsciously. He nearly stopped, paranoia nearly overriding kindness. Nearly. However, he kept going. As he rounded the corner, he saw Meg Giry and another young dancer sitting together. Meg had one arm around the girl's shoulders, and the other held a bandage firmly in place. He suddenly appeared before them, putting his skill at hiding to work once again.

"Pardon me, but I was wondering if I could help. I am a doctor." Meg looked up gratefully, completely ignoring the scars that marred his face.

"Oh, thank you, Monsieur. My friend here accidentally cut her hand on a sharp piece of glass she was handling. It's bleeding pretty badly, but..." Phelan nodded and knelt down. Taking the injured girl's hand in his, he carefully removed the compress. Blood began to runnel down his fingers.

"Hmm. This isn't good. You've managed to hit an artery, dear. Oh, Miss Giry, would you mind getting me a needle and thread?" She stood and raced off. Phelan mentally cursed as he realized his mistake. However, she seemed not to notice. He turned his attention back to the bleeding hand in his. He pressed the bandaged back onto the cut, and smiled encouragingly at the dancer, who looked pale.

"An artery? Am I going to bleed to death?" Phelan chuckled.

"No, of course not. Your friend did the right thing. However, you'll be much better after I sew the vessel shut. I'm afraid it'll hurt." The young girl, though wan with fear, smiled bravely.

"I'll be fine. I won't cry." The spirit of the dancer moved Phelan.

"You're a pretty tough girl, then. It's all right to cry, though. Don't think it's not. I cry all the time." The girl smiled at him, trying to cheer him up.

"Don't worry, Monsieur. Even if everything looks horrible, and you want to cry, you don't have to. There's always something good. You just have to look for it." Meg returned with the needle and thread as the bleeding girl finished speaking.

"Ah, thank you, Miss Giry." Phelan took the proffered items and threaded the eye of the needle expertly. He took the girl's bleeding hand with his own, the blood slicking his fingers. "Well, you ready?" The girl nodded slowly. Phelan gently pierced the torn blood vessel with the needlepoint, drawing a hiss from the injured dancer. Her hand tightened on his. Working quickly to keep her from fainting of blood loss, he stitched the gushing hole closed. He tied a knot in the thread, snapped it easily, and replaced the bandage. He handed the needle and the spool of thread back to Meg, who smiled at him. She turned to the younger girl.

"How are you feeling, Jaina?" Jaina moved her hand experimentally.

"I'm much better. Thank you, Monsieur Doctor. It feels much better." Phelan grinned and looked at his hand, and then at the floor, both covered in blood.

"Hmm. This is a bit of a mess." Jaina flushed.

"I'll clean it up, Monsieur Doctor." He waved the comment away with his clean hand.

"No, no. You ought to clean your hand off, first. I'll get this." He pulled the towel off his shoulder and wiped his hand, before a thought struck him. "Wait, if you'll excuse me. It's pretty late. Shouldn't you two be in bed?" Meg shrugged weakly.

"Well, Monsieur Doctor, we were just... walking." Phelan smirked.

"Walking? Well, you're lucky I found you. Of course, when your instructor finds out about this..." Jaina squeaked, and Meg's face went pale.

"Oh, please, Monsieur Doctor, we were... well, we were going to the old shower by the owners' offices. I thought maybe..." Phelan chuckled, trying to hold in his laughter. If he got too loud... "We had heard that someone was going to be using them, and we thought..." Phelan finally sat down on the recently vacated bench, laughing.

"This is just too funny. You know, I caught two other people trying to get in there as well." He wiped a tear from his eye with one hand. "So one pair of young lovers, another pair of peeping toms. I wonder who I'll meet next?" Meg blushed, as did Jaina. The younger dancer looked ashamed.

"Well, Monsieur Doctor, we weren't going to be spying on the person. We just wondered if he was going to be singing. The new Ghost, that is." Phelan's smile faded, to be replaced with wonder.

"Hmm. You were willing to risk punishment just to hear some lunatic sing in the shower? You really are tough, Miss..." He inclined his head slightly, and Jaina curtsied, embarrassed.

"Farraday. Jaina Farraday." Phelan grinned.

"Miss Farraday. Well, I'm surprised. I hope you've learned your lesson, though: if you're going to catch a song or two in the middle of the night, you shouldn't juggle broken glass." He tossed his towel on the ground, and swabbed the floor absentmindedly with his foot. "Perhaps I ought to go to this bathroom tonight, too. It seems my towel has become somewhat... dirty." He grinned. Suddenly, Meg frowned.

"Monsieur, I'm a bit confused. While I'm glad that you were here to help Jaina, but... a couple things don't add up. First off, you knew my name, and Jaina told you hers, but you don't want to tell us yours. Second, you've got a towel, and your hair is slightly wet. Finally, how old are you, anyway? You don't seem old enough to be a doctor." For the second time that night, Phelan tried in vain to restrain his laughter.

"You're pretty forward, aren't you?" He shook his head as Meg began to flush. "No, don't worry. It doesn't offend me. So, let me go backwards. I'm nineteen. I'm, shall we say, not an actively employed doctor, but only because of my age. I like to think I'm much better than those kooks out there." He grinned. "As to the second, because I just finished taking a shower." He stood up and grinned at the pair of dancers, winking at Meg. "As for number one, you can call me Phelan." Meg looked shocked.

"Wait... you're... what?" He shrugged.

"Well, I get sick of the shadows sometimes. Of course, you realize that you'll have to keep secret. I like to be able to mingle at times." Jaina looked confused, and she tugged at the older girl's sleeve.

"Meg, what's he mean?" Meg stood transfixed for a second, staring into the face of the man who had saved her only a week ago.

"You?" Phelan nodded.

"Yup." He turned to Jaina. "Perhaps, my dear, while tonight you didn't hear any music, you ought to come back sometime. I must warn you, though, it wouldn't be a good idea to do more than listen. I hear that this new Ghost, who calls himself the 'Nightbringer', loves an audience for his music, but not for his body." Meg turned, still pale, and smiled weakly at Jaina.

"Jaina, would you mind running the needle and thread back to my room? Thanks." As the young dancer left, oblivious, Meg turned back to Phelan, who stood silently, an amused smile on his face. "Nightbringer?" He shrugged.

"I want to get away from the old image of the murdering lunatic. Changing the name will help, I hope." She glanced down at her feet for a second, lost for words.

"Thank you, Phelan. That's twice now that you've saved me. Well, okay, you saved Jaina, but..." She trailed off. "You know what I mean." Phelan nodded.

"Don't worry. It's not like I have anything else to do around here than stalk you." He grinned at Meg's expression. "I'm just joking." She stepped closer, and alarm bells rang in his head. He stilled himself, though. It wouldn't do to flee from a young girl who owed him her life. _Actually, when you put it like that..._ She smiled at him.

"What was that about coming back sometime?" Shrugging, he felt another alarm go off in his head, this one deeper and more urgent. He crouched down to look her in the eyes.

"Exactly what it sounds like. I love music, and I love singing, but people walking in on me while I'm taking a shower... listen, Miss Giry, I have to go. Sorry, but it's urgent. Good night." As he bade her farewell, he took a step back and jumped. He disappeared into the shadows as an older man rounded the corner.

"Hey, you! What are you doing up so late?" Suddenly, Phelan appeared right behind the startled guard.

"Good morning. I can answer your question, by the way." The guard stiffened.

"Are- are you the Opera-" He cut the older man off sharply.

"No. The Opera Ghost is gone. I am, instead, Nightbringer. I mean no harm here, as I was explaining to this young girl. She carries a message from me. Please deliver it to the owners tomorrow, by the way. Now, I'll be off. Harassing old men and young girls is quite boring." With that, he left, chuckling.


	5. Make a Note

The next morning, Meg Giry found a small handwritten note enclosed in a larger one, both sitting atop her nightstand. The smaller one read,

Miss Giry,

I apologize for putting you on the spot last night. However, it was, I figured, the best way to keep you out of trouble. If you wouldn't mind delivering the larger note, I'd appreciate it. Oh, and by the way, if you and Miss Farraday really want to hear me sing, I'm free any time of the day, and any time of the night. Merely say, "Nightbringer", and I'll be there.

-Phelan, Nightbringer.

Meg smiled as she read the note, and slipped them both into her pocket. She started off towards the owners' office. While there were two owners, and they each had their own office, they shared an antechamber that became known as 'the torture chamber'. Not because anyone had been tortured there, but instead because that's where new hopefuls waited for the results of their interviews. As Meg entered, she realized that she had walked in on a raging debate.

"-and I still say that we hunt him down like the dog that he is! The fool can only run-" The balding man looked over at Meg as she closed the door, and stopped abruptly.

"Yes?" His tone was rude and imperious, but Meg just shrugged it off.

"A note for you, Monsieur." With that, she pulled Phelan's letter out of her pocket and began to read it.

"To the current owners of the Opera House,

I must say, I'm not sure whether to be amused or angered by your actions. You've deliberately sold tickets to box five, you've repeatedly discussed hunting me down, you've attempted to close over seven entrances to the underground tunnel network, and, quite frankly, you disgust me with your poor attempts to hide this all from me. I'm a lenient man. I'll give you a second chance. Now, don't think I'm all talk and not willing to take action. I just prefer to drop sandbags on people's heads _after _they get a warning. This is it. I'm sure you'll understand, and see things my way. If not, well, maybe the Opera House needs new management.

Signed, the Nightbringer." The owners stared at each other for a second, their faces mirroring the other's panic and distress. As the short man opened his mouth to speak, a voice resounded from the walls.

"Thank you for reading that aloud. I suppose it's harder to dismiss when spoken. However, I must say, you are getting me more angered than amused." The taller co-owner whispered something to the shorter man, and suddenly Phelan growled. "You two are pathetic. If you can't learn when to stop fighting, here's your lesson." Suddenly, a flying moose statue hit the desk. It sat there, staring blankly at the pair of frightened old men. "Luckily, I'm not mad. If I was..." He trailed off. "That moose would have broken one of you." Meg looked somewhat alarmed. Phelan continued, saying, "Look. It'll be simpler if you just don't screw around. I'm giving you a second chance. Use it."

That night, near ten, Jaina Farraday and Meg Giry met near where they had talked to Phelan the night before. Meg looked over to Jaina and she nodded. Meg grinned and spoke clearly into the silence. "Nightbringer." They waited for a few seconds, and Meg shrugged, embarrassed. "What a fool I am. I should have known-" A low, quiet song began to float down the hall, and Meg fell silent.

_Just yesterday morning, they let me know you were gone;_

_Suzanne, the plans they made put an end to you._

_I walked out this morning, and I wrote down this song;_

_I just don't remember who to send it to._

_Lord, I've seen fire, and I've seen rain._

_I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end,_

_I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend,_

_but I always thought that I'd see you again._

_So, look down upon me Jesus, you've gotta help me make a stand._

_You've just gotta see me through another day._

_My body's aching and my time is at hand,_

_and I won't make it any other way._

_Lord, I've seen fire, and I've seen rain._

_I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end,_

_I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend,_

_but I always thought that I'd see you again._

_I've been walking my mind to an easy time, with my back turned towards the sun._

_Lord knows when the cold wind blows it'll turn your head around._

_There'll be hours of time on a telephone line, to talk about things to come:_

_Sweet dreams and flying machines in pieces on the ground._

_Lord, I've seen fire, and I've seen rain._

_I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end,_

_I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend,_

_but I always thought that I'd see you again._

Phelan's voice trailed off. "Yeah." He stepped out of the shadows. Meg and Jaina turned to him.

"That was beautiful, Monsieur Doctor!" Phelan laughed.

"Miss Farraday, I don't think you understand exactly who I am. I'm the new Ghost here." Jaina smiled at him.

"Yeah, I know. However, you'll still be Monsieur Doctor to me." She raised her hand, showing him a long scar in her flesh. "See? I'm much better, thanks to you." He sighed.

"You'll have a scar for the rest of your life." Jaina shrugged.

"So? I mean, you have all sorts of scars, and you don't let them stop you." Meg looked alarmed, but Phelan grinned.

"Don't worry, Miss Giry. I'm quite willing to admit it. I've got quite a few scars, Miss Farraday, and you're right, I don't let them stop me." He paused, and collected his thoughts. "Anyway, I'm glad that you liked that one. It's one of my favourites." Meg smiled at him.

"Well, is that all, or..." Phelan snorted.

"You want more? Fine." He hummed a quick melody, making sure of the tune, before he began another song.

_Walking in rhythm,_

_moving in sound,_

_humming to the music,_

_trying to move on._

_I'm walking in rhythm,_

_singing my song,_

_thinking 'bout my baby,_

_trying to get home._

_It's been so long since I've seen her,_

_I'm tired and so all alone._

_I've traveled so very far,_

_I've got to get back home._

_It's been so long since I've kissed her,_

_or held her tight in my arms._

_I've got so far to go now,_

_I've got to get back home,_

_I've got to get back home!_

_Walking in rhythm,_

_moving in sound,_

_humming to the music,_

_trying to move on._

_I'm walking in rhythm,_

_singing my song,_

_thinking 'bout my baby,_

_trying to get home._

_It's been so long since I've seen her,_

_I'm tired and so all alone._

_I've traveled so very far,_

_I've got to get back home._

_It's been so long since I've kissed her,_

_or held her tight in my arms._

_I've got so far to go now,_

_I've got to get back home,_

_I've got to get back home!_

He trailed off once more, as he finished singing. Meg smiled at him. "I like that one, but it seems a bit wistful." Phelan grinned and shrugged.

"Well, so am I." Jaina looked a bit confused.

"So, wait, does that mean-" Phelan laughed.

"Don't over-analyze songs, love. It just ruins the beauty of the music and the lyrics. I mean, it's good in some sense, but I don't usually have a reason to sing a specific song." He leaned against the wall, surveying the two dancers in front of him. "Heh. I just realized what I'm doing. I'm a crazed lunatic who lives in tunnels, and here I am singing songs to a pair of dancers. Quite a few people would get on my back for being a creepy old man." Meg shook her head emphatically.

"No, that's not true. I mean, you're only two years older than I am. Jaina's twelve, but..." She trailed off. "It's just... you're different. Society doesn't like different." Phelan scowled.

"There are quite a few things that I wouldn't mind telling society to do. Oh well. Hey, you know, I sang for you, now it's your turn." Meg blushed.

"I can't dance without any music." Phelan raised an eyebrow.

"Who said anything about dancing?"


	6. You are the New Day

Jaina grinned and gave Meg a little shove. "She's a good singer, Monsieur Doctor. She's just shy." Phelan nodded sagely.

"That's usually how it is." Meg frowned at the younger girl.

"Jaina, come on. I'm not any good, and you know it." Phelan grinned.

"That sounds like you're just missing self-confidence. Come on, Miss Giry. I promise I won't laugh at you." Jaina snorted quietly.

"You wouldn't laugh at her anyway. She's such a good singer..." Meg chewed her lip, a faint red flush creeping up her neck.

"Fine. I'll sing. It's an old song that I heard once, and I've sung it ever since. If you laugh, though..." She sighed and drew a deep breath.

_You are the new day._

_I will love you more than me  
and more than yesterday,  
If you can but prove to me  
you are the new day._

_Send the sun in time for dawn,  
Let the birds all hail the morning,  
Love of life will urge me say,  
You are the new day._

_When I lay me down at night,  
Knowing we must pay,  
Thoughts occur that this night might  
Stay yesterday._

_Thoughts that we as humans small  
Could slow worlds and end it all,  
Lie around me where they fall,  
Before the new day._

_One more day when time is running out  
For everyone,  
Like a breath I knew would come,  
I reach for the new day._

_Hope is my philosophy,  
Just needs days in which to be,  
Love of life means hope for me,  
Born on a new day._

_You are the new day._

Phelan gaped, open-mouthed, as the last note faded into nothingness. Meg misunderstood his look, and snapped angrily at him. "Well, I told you, didn't I? I'm just a dancer." Phelan held up one hand to placate her.

"Miss Giry, that was beautiful." He breathed the word like it was magic. He sighed and closed his eyes. "You're right, Miss Farraday. There's no way I could laugh at that, unless I was laughing with joy." Meg looked startled.

"You thought... it was good?" Phelan smiled and answered, his eyes still closed.

"Good? No. No, no no. It was amazing. Miss Giry, please, for all of our sakes, don't ever doubt your singing ability. Your voice is beautiful." His eyes flicked open, and suddenly a wave of panic swept through him. _What are you doing? What happened to 'no cheap shots about Meg'? Huh? You're in deep, now, buddy. There's no way to get out of this politely. She's a nice girl, sure, but it's not like anything could ever come of it. You're too... _Phelan sighed. _I know. I'm too different. But, maybe... NO! You'd never fit in here._ Suddenly, he was snapped back to reality by a light tap on his shoulder. Meg looked up into his eyes, worried.

"You alive, Phelan?" He flinched at her touch, but nodded.

"Sorry. I was... arguing." Meg stared at him, trying to decide whether or not to believe him. He shrugged apologetically and she moved her hand back.

"You're a bit twitchy. Are you all right?" Phelan grinned bitterly.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." She grinned right back.

"Try me." He bit his lip, and thought.

"All right, but not now. Later." He shrugged apologetically once more. "It'll take a while to explain. Talk to me when you've got a free hour." She looked around thoughtfully.

"It's, what, ten? I've got time." Jaina yawned, and immediately covered it.

"I wanna hear too!" Phelan shot an amused glance at Meg before he turned to the young dancer.

"Well, all right, but later. Right now, you need to get some sleep." Jaina pouted for a second.

"Promise?" He smiled.

"Promise." She considered it, and finally nodded.

"Okay. G'night, Monsieur Doctor." He grinned.

"You can call me Phelan, you know. It's less of a mouthful." Jaina smiled sweetly.

"Only if you call me Jaina instead of Miss Farraday." Meg laughed, and Phelan grinned mournfully.

"I've been outsmarted. You are a scheming little ballerina, you know that?" He sighed. "G'night, Jaina." The younger girl smiled at him and skipped off. He turned to Meg. "So, does this mean..." She tried unsuccessfully to keep the smile from her face.

"You can just call me Meg." He shrugged.

"All right, Meg." He sat down on a nearby bench, and she took the spot next to him. He was slightly surprised, but didn't say anything about it. "Well, it's actually not all that long of a story. When I was younger, I was attacked by something in the forest. My parents cared for me, cleaning the wound and everything, but... something changed that day. Something changed inside me. Some nights, I woke up covered in blood. I was bleeding heavily, and I've finally figured it out. Whatever attacked me turned me into a werewolf. When I change into one, I end up attacking myself for some reason. Now, I don't understand why, but I'll gladly take that over innocent deaths. That means that I heal exceedingly fast. For example, when the Ghost stabbed me, back in the corridor, it healed over in less than ten minutes." He sighed. "The whole 'not quite human' bit makes me an outcast. I'm really just a rabid animal to be put down, in society's eyes." He snarled quietly. "I left home when I was twelve, because I couldn't take it. I couldn't stand the fear in my parents' eyes, in my brother's eyes. I travelled the world, searching for a cure. I've never found one. It's just..." He smiled bitterly. "It's just a disease. Something that makes me dangerous to everyone." A slight hitch in his voice betrayed him. "Now, I've shown up here, met you and Jaina, who aren't afraid of my human form... which, y'know, is rare in and of itself..." He glanced away, embarrassed. "So, I was really afraid to tell you guys this, because... well, I've never really had friends before. I don't want to lose you." A gentle hand on his shoulder made him look back at the girl- woman next to him. She smiled at him.

"Don't worry, Phelan. I just have to ask, though... is Phelan your real name?" He shrugged.

"Well, not really, but I've given up on my past. It's my name now." She nodded slowly.

"I can imagine. Besides, it's just a bit too convenient that you'd be named Phelan." He nodded.

"Means wolf. I have to admit, it's a bit of a joke, but whatever." Meg sighed and leaned against him.

"You know, technically, the whole 'I'm a werewolf' thing should scare me, but... after the phantom showed up..." He could feel alarms go off in his head. Her presence disturbed him, yet... it was somehow comforting. Somehow relaxing. Her scent caught his senses, and he inhaled deeply, trapping Meg's smell in his mind. For once in his life, the hunted relaxed from his vigil.


	7. Of Ultimatums

First off, I'd like to apologize for the delay in posting. It's been a tough couple of weeks for me, mostly involving me trying to stave off my insanity for as long as possible, but some of it just plain depression. Well, anyway, the point is, I'm sorry about not getting this done sooner. I've been in this boat way too long myself, and I'm sorry that you're in it now, too. Of course, considering there's maybe one person reading this...

Anyway, so yeah. Sorry about that. Second, just like to point out that almost all the EricxMeg stuff I've read makes Meg out to be a rebound bang. Why I'd like to point that out, I'm not sure. However, it's true. Just about all of it starts out with Eric trying to cope with the loss of Christine, and ends up banging Meg. Gaah.

Thus, I've completely eliminated Eric, for that reason, and also because he can't go where I want the new phantom to.

So, there's some of my reasoning in a nutshell. As to why you care, I'm not sure. Well, have fun. Again, apologies about the delay.

XXXXX

But only for a minute. He could feel the beast inside him, raging at the bars that impeded it. He forced it down, crushing it with his will. Meg was oblivious to this, of course. She missed the slight tensing of his muscles as he fought for control of his body. A whisper of air heralded her voice again.

"I mean, after finding out the whole 'Opera Ghost and Christine' problem, this is really secondary, concern wise." She smiled up at him. "At least I know that you don't kill people randomly." He snorted.

"That's all I've got going for me? Great." She shrugged.

"You know, Phelan, considering your occupation, it's pretty good." She stood slowly. "Well, I've got to get going. There's the Les Miserables try-outs soon." Phelan stood as well, and shot her a sly grin.

"You ought to try out for a singing role. You'd make it, easily." She glanced at him, suspicion in her eyes.

"Because you'd rig the outcome?" He shook his head, amused.

"Because you'd blow away just about any judge of talent." He suddenly began to stroke his chin, playing up the evil madman stereotype. "Although, rigging the outcome would-" Meg sighed.

"Well, I've learned my lesson. I'm not going to try out for the lead role, in case you decide that I'm better, and kill the person who ends up with it instead." She grinned. "I'll try out for someone else, like Eponine, or perhaps-" Phelan looked somewhat startled, and interjected quickly.

"Eponine? Really? She was always my favourite..." Meg nodded enthusiastically.

"I know! She's just the more believable, because she's got more emotion, and she's less of an airhead like Cosette." Phelan grinned.

"Hooray! Someone who agrees with me that Cosette is an airhead! Well, does that mean that you will try out for Eponine in the musical?" Meg tried to seem ambivalent, but her excitement showed.

"I'll think about it." The scarred Nightbringer laughed, and crouched.

"Well, you do that. G'night, Meg." With that, he shot upwards and disappeared into the ceiling again. The dancer's jaw dropped for a second, and then she grinned.

"Heh. Nice, Phelan. Well, good night." A soft voice sounded in her ears as she turned and started towards her room.

"Just a habit, dear. Apologies." She stopped in her tracks and turned slowly. There was no one in view.

"Phelan..." She sighed. "Eh. I guess I should expect this?" Soft laughter.

"I am pretty distinctive, you know. I wouldn't want you getting connected to an insane extortionist. Sorry about this, though. If you don't want to be talking to thin air..." Meg smiled.

"No, it's all right. You shouldn't be following me around everywhere, though." He chuckled from behind a painting.

"All right. See you later, Meg." She laughed.

"Good night, again."

Phelan watched silently as the two owners made plans. The shorter man looked around suspiciously before he began to whisper. The watching Nightbringer heard it all, though.

"Okay, here's my idea. This lunatic probably will try to sit in on the casting for Les Miserables. We'll set up guards all over the place, and if he reveals himself, we'll trap him and catch the little scum!" The taller man shrugged uneasily.

"Well, Phillipe, he's not really been a big problem here. There isn't any sort of panic going on, and quite frankly, if he's a killer, he'd have moved by now. We haven't sent any money, we sold tickets to box five, tried to close up the tunnels, tried to hunt him down, and none of it has worked. It was a fool's errand to resist anyway, but now... you heard him. If we keep acting the goat, we'll both die for it." Phillipe scoffed.

"You are a sniveling coward, Emile. We can't let another madman ruin this theater! I for one will take any action necessary to stop this murderer." Emile grimaced.

"We don't know he's not listening. Phillipe... shouldn't we just wait and see? I want to believe the best of _this _phantom, this Nightbringer." The balding man shook his head sharply.

"Wait and see? We cannot. It is too dangerous. We have to _act_." Suddenly, Phelan dropped to the floor, the black hooded cloak masking his features, and stood up from his crouch. He spoke quietly, letting his voice fill with menace.

"Well well well. I suppose I expected more from you, although I don't know why." He raised one gnarled finger and pointed it at Phillipe. "You ought to listen to your partner more, Phillipe. It could just save you." He turned to Emile, who shivered. "As for you, Emile, I am somewhat proud of you. You at least haven't advised constant war against me. As you can probably tell, I have access anywhere. You cannot stop me. You cannot trap me. All you can do is what I tell you. I will gladly let you run this theater, but... if you are unwilling to accept help, you are both fools. Good night, Monsieur Phillipe, Monsieur Emile. You have until tomorrow to decide what course you will take. I promise you, though, if you try anything stupid, someone will suffer for it." With that, he leapt up into the ceiling, and disappeared once more. He knelt by the trapdoor, listening to the shocked silence. Finally, Phillipe turned to Emile and winced.

"I guess we can try it your way..."

The next day, the ultimatum was known throughout the entire theater. Most told it in hushed whispers, fearful of alerting the Nightbringer to their knowledge, but a few were bolder and even boasted of how they knew who the Nightbringer was. Of course, those few who boasted did not include Meg and Jaina. They didn't have to. The days dragged on, the day of the casting for Les Miserables drawing nearer. Finally, it dawned, and the whole of the theater gathered to set parts. Thanks to a previous letter, there were _three_ chairs at the judging table, Phillipe, Emile, and... the third was empty. As the first girl stepped forward, Emile looked at his paper questioningly.

"Mademoiselle... Bathurst, trying out for the part of Cosette." She sang a quick little song, and the two owners nodded slowly. Slow clapping stunned everyone in the audience for a second, because suddenly a hooded and cloaked figure appeared in the third seat.

"Nice job, Mademoiselle Bathurst." Phillipe flinched visibly as he recognized the voice.

"You!"

The day passed slowly, each person vying for some spot in the limelight. Finally, Meg stepped on stage. Emile smiled and looked down at his paper. "Ahh, Mademoiselle Giry, trying out for the part of Eponine? Good girl. Well, do your best." She nodded and closed her eyes briefly to compose herself. She opened them once more, and drew in a breath.

_And now I'm all alone again  
Nowhere to turn, no one to go to.  
Without a home, without a friend  
without a face to say hello to  
But now the night is near  
And I can make-believe he's here  
Sometimes I walk alone at night  
When everybody else is sleeping  
I think of him and then I'm happy  
With the company I'm keeping  
The city goes to bed  
And I can live inside my head  
On my own  
Pretending he's beside me  
All alone  
I walk with him 'til morning  
Without him, I feel his arms around me  
And when I lose my way, I close my eyes and he has found me  
In the rain  
The pavement shines like silver  
All the lights are misty in the river  
In the darkness, the trees are full of starlight  
And all I see is him and me forever and forever  
And I know it's only in my mind  
That I'm talking to myself and not to him  
And although I know that he is blind  
Still I say there's a way for us  
I love him  
But when the night is over  
He is gone  
The river's just a river  
Without him, the world around me changes  
The trees are bare and everywhere the streets are full of strangers  
I love him  
But every day I'm learning  
All my life I've only been pretending  
Without me, his world will go on turning  
A world that's full of happiness that I have never known  
I love him  
I love him  
I love him…  
But only on my own… _

The room fell silent. Phillipe and Emile exchanged wide-eyed glances, while Phelan smirked under the cover of his hood. "Well, that was..." Phillipe began, stumbling over his words. Emile smiled warmly at the young dancer-turned-singer.

"Quite beautiful, Mademoiselle Giry. Thank you for that." She nodded, slightly startled, and almost fled from the stage. Phelan nudged the stunned co-owner nearest him in the ribs.

"Well, are we going to get on with the casting? I too found that quite amazing, but it seems that we've got business." Phillipe flinched, but nodded.

"Right. Next?"


	8. Visions

Well, first off, the almost ritualistic process of apologizing for my lateness in posting this chapter. I know, I know, it's annoying, but eh. With school, some rather nasty (sanity-related) business that I had to deal with, and a huge case of writer's block, I'd like to think that I'm allowed a bit of lagg. Sae, yeh, apologies, and in the immortal words of Brother-Captain Gabriel Angelos, of the Blood Ravens, "If I wasn't meant to suffer, I wouldn't feel pain." How often do they apply to my life.

Of course, his next words were, "CHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGE!!!"

Oh, and just throwing this out there: if there's anyone else aside from Market Square Heroes (who, by the way, is awesome for continuously reading and reviewing this trash), could you please let me know?

XXXXX

Phelan grimaced as he stood under the jet of water. The cold water streamed into his cuts and gashes, causing him to wince. The soap burned as he scrubbed the dried blood off him once again. As he washed, the wounds began to close already, but the pain was still there. He sighed, and quickly inspected himself. Satisfied, he shut the shower off and grabbed up his towel. He dried his torso wearily, watching the latest self-inflicted wounds meld into the mass of scar tissue that formed his body. It was almost poetic, in a way. Almost. He pulled on a loose black t-shirt and a pair of baggy tan slacks, and tightened his belt. He didn't glance at the mirror as he walked by it. Suddenly, the world began to spin. Another step, and the walls seemed to close in. He sank to the ground, and the feeling in his legs evaporated. The meager breakfast he had eaten seemed to claw at his throat, begging to be released. His world spun drunkenly, and he gagged. Warmth suddenly seeped from his body, and he reached down to touch the pool of blood that he knelt in. His fingers dripped crimson as he raised them and goggled at the liquid that should... should be... his eyes rolled back in their sockets, and he collapsed heavily on the floor. Blood pooled in his gasping mouth, as his lungs strained for one last breath. They rattled and hissed, a foreign noise to him. Phelan's hand, still half-raised, finally turned limp and it splashed into the growing pool of his blood. He could taste the salty, iron-rich flavour of his life. His last coherent thought, before the world dissipated into white, was of confusion and concern. _Oh God, I'm dying. What if I'm found? What if -_

He drifted in the void, wandering aimlessly without quite moving. Colours flashed across his perception, hurting his eyes. A voice spoke out of nowhere. "Phelan? Phelan! Dear God, what happened?" He grinned, and croaked back.

"I wish I knew, love. You probably can't hear me, seeing as I'm dead. Too bad." Suddenly, he felt something. A dull ache. He frowned, confused. The voice spoke again, close to hysterical.

"Phelan, you aren't dead! If you're dead, I'll kill you! Come on, snap out of it!" Another dull ache, this time in his stomach. He tried to move a hand, but his muscles wouldn't respond. Something... something salty... but not blood... The sound of weeping. "Come on, Phelan..." He tried again, exerting all his will on moving his hand. It resisted, but he pressed harder. Finally, it began to creep forward slowly. The weeping still continued, the weeper oblivious. "Please, God, don't let him have died..." His hand encountered something. He blinked. The void began to reform, slowly, blurredly. He blinked again, trying to clear his sight. Shapes, colours... his hand crawled forward, inexorably and indefatigable. Whatever he had his fingers on jerked away. He bit his lip and forced his fingers forward again, trying to grasp onto reality. The world took shape, and he could feel his fingers encounter something again. He latched onto it, and concentrated on the feeling. Warmth flowed through his fingers, and he opened his eyes, fully. The bathroom swam into focus. No blood, no vomit, merely one surprised young dancer staring at him. He met her eyes levelly.

"Do I want to know what I'm holding on to?" The streams of tears flowed down her face again, dripping onto his. She grinned weakly.

"I was wondering why you were groping my foot." He smirked.

"I was worried that you were going to smack me for holding on to something a bit more... private." She reached down and took his hand. He relished the feel of her flesh, reality. She smiled at him, worry melting from her eyes.

"So was I, Phelan."

He shivered as he sat on the cold, tiled floor. Meg handed him a mug of some steaming liquid, and he sipped at it gratefully. It was tasteless to him, but he figured that it was merely shock confusing his senses. He glanced up at the young woman who sat down across from him.

"So, Meg..." He trailed off, and then smirked sheepishly. "I got nuthin'." She smiled.

"How're you holding up, Phelan?" His gaze faltered for a second, and he had to glance away quickly and wipe an eye.

"Not too well, love. I'm still pretty shaken up." Meg quirked an eyebrow.

"Apparently, because you're calling me 'love'." He shrugged.

"Eh. Vocal mannerism." A sigh.

"Phelan, about that..." His gaze snapped back to catch hers. "Phelan, I think I'm in love with you." Time seemed to stop for a second. His mind registered the words, almost unwillingly.

"What?" She blushed.

"Well, I just... I'm sorry, Phelan, but... I was just..." He held up a hand gently.

"Meg... maybe there is something between us. I mean, you're... pretty much everything I'd love to find in a woman, and you're willing to look past my scars, my demons, but... it couldn't work. I'm too... dangerous." She frowned.

"Dangerous? Because of your lycanthropy, you mean?" He nodded sadly.

"That's part of it. Meg, I'd love to love you, but I can't. There's just too much..." She slapped him.

"Shut up right now, Phelan. Don't tell me that you're too messed up. I watched a madman terrorize this building for God knows how long. I have my own emotional baggage. If you don't feel anything for me, then just say it. If you do, don't give me this 'dangerous' crap. I wouldn't be here if I believed it." Phelan sighed. The red mark on his face stung, but he ignored it.

"Meg... I can't tell you that I don't love you. I don't know. I _think_ I love you. However, I've been almost everywhere, and every time I've met some girl who interested me. I'd consider it, but I ended up falling in love with a fantasy. I tried to keep this just friendly, but... I don't want to break your heart. This can't end well. I'm a disfigured menace. You've got a life to live, I don't." Meg looked shocked.

"Phelan, you..." He grimaced.

"See? You didn't expect that. You don't know anything about me, Meg. I don't know anything about you. You could easily find a nice young man and settle down. I'm an outcast, a pariah. I can't be happy, not in this world. You can." Her expression turned from shock to anger.

"Phelan Nightbringer, you stupid git. Stop doing that. Stop making yourself out to be a monster. You're not normal, sure. That's fine by me. You're the victim of some sort of curse. I'm fine with that too. We could be happy together. Stop treating me like a child, Phelan. I'm quite willing to handle everything that loving you would entail, including your problems." He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. "Don't give me that crap. If you think I don't know you well enough, then let's solve that, shall we? If you want to know more about me, ask. I could care less about your scars. Deal with it, Phelan. I think that you're just too afraid to let someone inside your little fortress. Your shell. I'm here, and I'm bashing the walls down. You'll either have to flee, or I'll drag you out if I have to. Even if it doesn't work, we'll still be friends." He closed his eyes, to hide her fierce determination.

"I died."

"Don't change the subject, Phelan. We can talk about what happened to you just now in a second. First, answer me."

"Meg..."

"Dammit, Phelan! I'll break your nose! Just give me an answer!"

"Meg..." She lashed out. He reeled backwards, surprised and hurt.

"Damn you, Phelan! What is it about you? Why can't you just accept the fact that I love you? Why do you have to pull back? I'm..." She seemed to collapse in on herself. Tears appeared at the corners of her eyes. "I don't want you to be alone." A single drop escaped the rest and coursed down her cheek. A finger reached out and wiped it away.

"Meg, I don't want to be alone, either. Thank you." The dam broke, and she wept. He pulled her into his arms and she buried her face in his shirt. Sobs were the only sounds to hear. Finally, the tears stopped. Phelan tipped her chin up and smiled at the young dancer. "I can't promise anything, Meg, but I'll do my best."


	9. Speaking in Stereo

Stayed up all night for unrelated badness, and decided to get working on this. Hooray, I might actually get chap. 9 posted by Monday evening! Well, okay, that's not likely, but eh. I'll at least get chap. 8 up for you lads/lasses.

Heh. I have the choice of going to sleep for four hours, and then going to church... or I could sit here, write my story, and chug Mountain Dews. And then go to church.

On another side note... I HATE being a paranoid-schizophrenic... it makes sitting in my basement at 3 in the morning far more terrifying then it should be. Did I mention that I can't turn on the lights? Whee...

XXXXX

She sobered up quickly as she remembered his words. "Wait... did you say..." Phelan nodded. He glanced away.

"Yeah. I... I think I died. Well, obviously not... look. I was walking to the door, when suddenly everything went crazy. I remember lying in a pool of my own blood. Now... there's no... it's..." He sighed. "I don't know what happened." Meg looked shocked.

"Phelan... do you think... was it a vision?" He nearly scoffed and pushed the idea away, but he paused.

"No. It couldn't be. It was too... now. Y'know? It wasn't the future. It all took place here, and I didn't do anything but walk towards the door." He chewed his lip thoughtfully. "I just hope that I'm not- what the?!" He spun sharply, managing to overbalance and fall over in the process. He glimpsed _something_, but it was gone before he could identify it. Meg reached out a hand, worry in her eyes.

"Phelan? What-" He held up a hand. She fell silent, and he sniffed the air.

"Huh." He stood. "Someone's playing with my mind, Meg." She looked confused.

"What? What do you mean? There's no way-" He coughed slightly.

"Meg, I'm a werewolf. If I exist, there are also other, less... believable creatures out there. One type of person can play games with the mind. Whoever is doing this must be very, very skilled. The last person to journey into my mind from the outside died very painfully. You see, Meg, my mind is unstable and dangerous, even to me. Especially to me. When other people try to mess with my mind, it involves taking a jaunt in. Normally, it's not something to be done lightly. Under circumstances such as mine, it's usually fatal." He offered her a hand up from the floor, and briefly patted her shoulder. "Don't worry about me, Meg. I'll be fine. You probably ought to get going; your friends will want to talk to you about your singing today." Meg hesitated.

"Phelan..." She touched his forehead with the back of her hand, as if checking him for a fever. "Phelan, the tryouts were two weeks ago. That's why I went looking for you." He paused.

"I'm going to go stand in the corner and swear until my throat starts to bleed. Back in a few."

He paced restlessly in the small room, talking to himself.

"Why? You promised her something that you can't give her. You're an idiot."

"What was I supposed to do? She was crying! She doesn't deserve to have her heart-"

"She deserves far better than you."

"Well, she's willing to settle for less."

"You're delusional. You'd kill her the instant that one of you made a mistake. All it takes is a full moon, and suddenly-"

"SHUT UP! I'm NOT a killer! I'm NOT!"

"What are you going to do? Resort to violence? Fool. You're a raving madman."

"I may be, but I'm NOT a killer."

"Never?" A howl, and he sunk to his knees in anguish.

"NO! Leave me alone! I tried to save her! I did my best! I would never hurt-"

"How the mighty have fallen."

"You can go-"

"Don't bother. I know well enough. You've used that same insult far too often. You're a failure, Phelan. A failure, a killer, and now a boyfriend. What next? Maybe a husband? Except, oops, she might just not make it-" A tear ran down his cheek.

"Stop doing this..."

"Oh, now you're begging? Pathetic. 'Please, don't hurt me. I'm emotionally injured, stop...' you're weak and stupid."

"You're part of that."

"Ooh, that's so hurtful. I guess I'll just go _hang_ myself, then."

"I'll... I'll..."

"If you say 'kill you', I'm going to laugh."

"Don't..."

"Now you're just proving my point. You don't deserve her. You ought to just run. Run far away. Leave her behind. Do what you always do, Phelan. You _coward_."

"I-"

"You what? Go ahead, try to say that you're not a coward. I dare you."

"I'm a coward."

"Thank you. Now, as I was saying-"

"I'm a coward. So what?"

"Excuse me?"

"I've got friends."

"Oh, _really._ Well, should I just prance off into the sunset, because you don't need me anymore?"

"I've got a home."

"A HOME? Don't make me laugh. This is just getting more pathetic by the second. You call THIS a home?"

"I saved a girl's life."

"Oh, let's all applaud the hero. You're such a great person. Now, should I start at the top of the list, or shall I just remind you of number two hundred and six?"

"Go ahead."

"Heh. Three words, Phelan: Long. Way. Down."

"That wasn't my fault."

"No? You should have saved her."

"I didn't-"

"That's right, you didn't. You failed her. Your mentor. The woman who took you in and fed you. The woman who was like a mother to you. YOU FAILED HER!"

"SO DID YOU!" Rivulets of tears escaped his eyes. "WE BOTH FAILED HER! HAPPY?"

"No."

"Too bad. I'm fed up with you. Leave me alone."

"Make me." Phelan snarled, and his head whipped forward. A second later, he tasted blood. His teeth rent flesh. His arm flared into sudden pain. He spat out the injured limb, and cradled it close to his body.

"Leave. Me. Alone."

"What about Meg?"

"What about her? You keep out of it. She's battered enough as it is. We'll see if this goes anywhere. She's willing to give me a try. It's the least I can do to let her try."

"You're a pushover."

"And you should stop talking." Suddenly, Phelan looked up. "I knew that I had smelled that before. You're truly ghastly." A shape moved out of the darkness and resolved into the light.

"Look who's calling the kettle black. Still having control problems?"

"I'll take your false sympathy and-"

"Come now, Phelan, we're businessmen. We're both here on business. You're trying to restore the glory back to this theater. I'm here to give you a message. Let's act at least somewhat professional, shall we?" Phelan grimaced.

"I'm not professional."

"No matter. The point is, I've got a message for you. If you don't get out of here by next Tuesday, everyone in this theater dies." His eyes narrowed. "Including you and your little girlyfriend."

"Who?" He laughed.

"Who do you think?" Phelan snarled quietly.

"Merinac, there are three hundred and sixty-one people who want me dead, and another one hundred and twelve people who want me to suffer. I'm too lazy to guess." Merinac shook his head in mock admonition.

"You'd think that you'd remember this person. He's _very_ interested in meeting you. Preferably in pieces, though."

"_That_ certainly clarifies things." Phelan grimaced. "Why you, though? I'd think that you'd be less likely to take out a contract on me." Merinac shrugged.

"Times change. People change. Besides, I'm not here to kill you. Screw with your mind until you're unable to function in reality, maybe, but not kill you." Suddenly Merinac found himself up against the wall, Phelan's right hand clenched around his throat, and Phelan's left pointing.

"Get out of here, Merinac. You're not welcome. I'm sparing your life for old times' sake. If you come back, I _will_ kill you."

"Your own brother? I'm disappointed."

"True." Phelan chopped his left hand around and through Merinac's neck. The man disappeared. "Except you're not actually here. You're just delivering your message through an illusion." Merinac's laughter rang chillingly through the room.

"i guess your threat is worthless now." Phelan shrugged.

"No. I meant that if you ever set foot in my mind again, I'll toss your mind to the hounds." Suddenly, he smiled. "It smells nice again. I guess that means that Merinac is gone. For now... stupid idjit."


	10. Quick Author's Note

Right, so...

Author's note time! Mostly, this sort of thing shouldn't happen too often, but I'll post one if there's something that REAAAALLY has to be explained, if I managed to scare you lads/lasses, or if it'll be a while before the next one shows up.

Yeah. Well, I know that this last chapter is a bit nuts, so here's a bit of help assimilating it.

First off, yes, I know, I do need psychiatric help. However, I'm too bull-headed/stubborn/idiotic to accept it. Plus, I've got friends for that stuff. Heh.

Second, yeah, Phelan did managed to have a conversation with himself. And yes, he did take a chunk out of his arm. I've done both (but not taking a chunk out of my arm; let's just say that Katie doesn't let me break the knives out). And no, I'm not emo. Socially maladjusted, yeh, but not a 'omfg I'm so worthless cut wrists' kinda guy. More like 'punishment for failure cut open back of hand' thing. Refer to number one. That, and I don't do that anymore.

Third, yes, I am a schizophrenic, and it tends to develop in my characters. Thus, the whole 'hallucinate people' thing happens to me all the time. I've hallucinated smell. Heck, I've even hallucinated taste! It's just insane. But, then again, so am I.

Fourth, yes, Phelan has a history of leaving broken bodies. It's not always his fault, but... eh. Suffice it to say that when he needed to, he couldn't save the woman who had helped him the most with his 'illness'. Think grandmother figure. I.E. Not a romantic relationship, bums!

Fifth, Merinac. He's Phelan's brother. He's partially dead. Again, more on that later. That's why he always smells, though. He calls Phelan 'Phelan' instead of Phelan's old name for simplicity's sake. He's also a sort of mental bounty hunter. As for the whole 'meet you in pieces' comment, you'll find out. Cannibalism? Haven't decided yet.

Right. That should be most of the confusing stuff cleared up. I hope that you all are enjoying this, and if you aren't, let me know. I _do _accept criticism, but only with bribes. BIIIIIIG bribes.

Heh.


	11. History Class

Phelan sat on the bathroom floor, deep in concentration. He didn't miss the noise of the door opening, nor was he deafened to Meg's greeting. He merely ignored them. Footsteps. He opened his eyes to see her feet, bare. He looked up into the concerned eyes of the young dancer. "Phelan, what is it?" He smirked.

"Well, I talked to my brother yesterday." She smiled hesitantly.

"So, that's..." Phelan shrugged.

"Both good and bad. Good, because he's not hiding from me, but bad because he's trying to kill me." Meg gasped.

"That's horrible! Why would he want to do that?" Phelan's smirk faded.

"Because he's dying, that's why. After I left, I traveled the world, that much I told you. However, there is quite a lot of my history that you don't know. I can tell you, but you'll be disgusted with me." Meg sat down next to the Nightbringer.

"No, I won't. You can tell me everything. No secrets between friends." Phelan smiled sadly.

"Well, I traveled the world looking for a cure for my... affliction. Eventually, I met up with Madame Grizelda. Yes, it's an unfortunate name, but she was the loving mother that I never had. She helped me look for the best of my lycanthropy, taught me to erase hate from my heart. She lived with a band of gypsies that were kind to me. Sure, it's stereotypical, but it's true. She referred to me as her 'incontinent little puppy'. I was able to stay in a cage when the moon was full, keeping the others safe. Eventually, as it goes with my life, something went wrong. A man from one of the towns we visited accused one of the gypsies of theft. Naturally, the authorities believed him. Even when a search turned up absolutely nothing, the young girl was condemned to four days in a pillory. Madame Grizelda protested. The next thing I knew, the thugs were beating her up. I leapt to her defense, as did the others with me. We fled, trying to escape the vengeful town. They caught us two days later. After putting everyone else to the sword, they flung Madame Grizelda off a cliff. I watched, helpless, as I felt my blood pour out of my stomach. I prayed for death, for vengeance, for a miracle. I suppose I got all three. I tracked down the thugs after my wound healed, and I ripped them limb from limb. I wandered aimlessly for days until I happened upon a pair of children playing. I immediately introduced myself and asked where their parents were. You can guess what the mother of these children did when she saw a bloody, scarred young stranger talking with her children. It was the most depressing day of my life. After I stopped bleeding... well, I followed them. Not for revenge, you see, but just to make my way back to a road. I heard screams ahead, and I started to run. What I saw still haunts me. One of the children... No. It's not... my brother attacked that family. I saw what he had become. I recognized him immediately. He... you've heard of - No, probably not. My brother... he caught a disease. This disease isn't like a cold, or leprosy, even though it looks exactly the same as leprosy. His body... is withering away. He is still alive, but his is a half-life. A living death. He can only survive by eating human flesh. He also has the fairly rare ability to enter someone else's mind. There, he can cause hallucinations, panic attacks, even gain control of your body. He has joined with those of his kind, the cannibalistic half-dead. Now, he tries to destroy my concentration, my strength, as his employer readies for battle. He is working for someone whose name and kind means nothing to you, and probably never will. Unless you encounter him, which I dearly hope that you will not, you cannot fathom it." He shrugged helplessly. "So, after I found my brother hunting small children, I continued my journey. Now, I am here." Meg stood slowly.

"Phelan..." He stood as well.

"I'm sorry, Meg, but that is my past. I cannot change it, though I dearly wish I could." She suddenly hugged the surprised young man.

"Phelan, I'm so sorry. I wish..." she trailed off, trying to express herself. Phelan smiled gently and caressed the dancer's cheek.

"That's my lot, love. I've gotten used to it. Y'know, when I have a day where nothing bad happens, I get suspicious."

She let go of him and took a step back. "Phelan, I just want you to know that if you need to talk, I'm always here." He smiled at her, and she turned to go. As she opened the door, though, a chill hit the air. It was... foul. He opened his mouth, to shout a warning, but he was too late. A hand punched through her chest and pulled out her heart. He fairly screamed as he saw his brother lift the still beating organ to his mouth and...

Meg blinked at him. "Phelan? What's wrong?" He paused. The door was open, but there was no half-dead cannibal enjoying his meal. Merely a confused dancer with one hand on the doorknob.

She was even more confused when Phelan sank to the ground and began to punch the ground furiously.


	12. Back on Track

Well. I know I've been a bollocks over the past... 2 months... so, to make up for it, I'm going to get -

THREE POSTS!!!

up by Friday. These'll be full-length (well, maybe. This one is ending up mildly undersized...), full-quality chapters. It's my way of saying, "Please don't stab me."

Oh, and odd question: Would any of you know how to talk to girls? I seriously have no idea how to talk to girls I don't know (Face to face, mind you). If you would like to help me out, drop me a line via email Thanks, and on with the show!

XXXXX

Phelan groaned and rubbed his face vigorously. The day had gone from bad to worse. Two more visions, a panic attack, and still no sign of Merinac. He was becoming more than a thorn in the side, he was a full-fledged dagger. Phelan shook his head and stood. Meg had been suspicious ever since the first vision, and so he was avoiding her for a while. At least until the Merinac business was concluded. He started off down the tunnel, when he caught a foul stench on the wind. A voice hissed from the flagstones beneath his feet.

"Hello, Phelan, how're you doing?" Phelan paused.

"Merinac, I'm getting tired of your games." Chilling laughter.

"That's really too bad, little brother. I'm enjoying them quite a lot."

"I'm not your brother, you half-dead maniac." Merinac laughed again.

"Maniac? Me? Look who's calling the kettle black. Seriously, Phelan, you've been such an enjoyable target. I'll almost regret handing you over to Huron." The scarred young man scowled.

"Huron? THAT'S who's after me? Bloody little sadist." Merinac fell silent for a second, then he began to speak again.

"I'd call you out on being a hypocrite, but I've already done that. Point is, he'll be here in two days, and I -" Phelan's eyes grew wide in horror.

"HE'S COMING HERE?" He spun, hit the wall, and shattered the flimsy wooden board disguised as part of the wall. Behind it, Merinac stood, rotting and cowering. Phelan took a huge step forward and grabbed his decaying brother's collar. "You son of a bitch." Merinac attempted to grovel, but he failed.

"Phelan, it was- it was a business deal! He's after me, too! I couldn't stop him, no one can." The Nightbringer rammed the frightened fiend into the stone wall. Something cracked, but Merinac appeared dead to the pain.

"I'll rip you limb from limb for this, Merinac. You've haunted me for too long, and now you're putting both me and -" He stopped momentarily. "-this opera house in danger! You're a scumbag, and a pile of worthless bones. I'll make sure Huron sees your skull on my shelf before he loses his own." Merinac spat at him.

"Fool. I'm invincible! I cannot die! That's the upside of this disease. I'd like to see you try-" Phelan shattered his brother's sternum with a palm. "-oh." The Nightbringer snarled and struck again. This time, a kneecap exploded under a violent kick.

"You-" he punctuated each word with another blow, "self- righteous- murdering- son- of- a- bitch!" With that, he popped his brother's head off and dashed it against the ground. Eerily, Merinac spoke again.

"Did you enjoy that, Phelan?" Phelan smiled and stomped sideways. He caught the skull and sent it flying, cracking and pitting it. "Ouch."

"For the record, yes, I did. I'll wait to destroy you entirely, though. I want you to see me kill Huron and save this whole damned theatre." The skull lay motionless on the ground, green fire crackling in its eye sockets. Phelan stooped to retrieve it. "So, now, Merinac, you're going up on my shelf." He paused as he regarded his brother's still-functional skull. "Alas, poor Yorick..."

Meg stared at the clock as she rehearsed her role in Les Miserables again. She hadn't seen Phelan ever since his 'attack' in the bathroom. It wasn't like him to completely avoid her. After about fifteen more minutes, she gave up. Worry warred with anger as she set the music down and stalked to her door. She opened it to find Phelan standing there, smiling. He swept inside before she even registered his presence. "Hello, Meg. How're you doing?" She stepped back in shock, confused at his abrupt entry.

"I'm... fine. How are you?" He shrugged easily.

"Pretty good. I found out I have to leave the city, beat the crap out of my brother, decapitated him, stuck his head on a shelf, and spent the last couple of minutes standing outside your door listening to you sing. You're getting very good." She blinked.

"Wait, what?" He sighed.

"Long story. The important thing is, I've got to get far, far away from here." She crossed her arms and glared at him.

"No." Another sigh.

"Meg, there's someone coming after me. Someone that's ready and willing to kill anyone he wants along the way." She shook her head stubbornly.

"No. You're not getting out of this that easily." He frowned, not understanding.

"What?" Meg smiled slightly.

"You can't abandon your job here. You took up your position, and now you've got to stick it out." He raised one eyebrow. Meg sighed. "Phelan, you're the new Phantom. You're not allowed to pick up and run." Phelan hung his head in frustration.

"Meg... this isn't... I..." He looked up. "Dammit, Meg, he'll kill you. You, your mother, Jaina... I don't want you to-" Suddenly, she hugged him.

"Phelan, I don't care. You've been running long enough. If we all die, so be it. If we don't, well, then you're stuck with us." He looked down in shock.

"Meg..."

"Listen to me, Phelan. This is your home. We're your friends. If you run away now, you'll never come back. You'll try to forget about us, and move on. If you stay here, though... we'll fight with you. If no one else will, then it'll be you and me. Jaina may be too young, but she'll want to help. Don't try to pretend that there's a better chance of surviving if you run."

"Meg..." His hands gently closed on her shoulders. "Meg... okay, this is starting to get annoying." She looked up, taken aback. He smiled down at her. "From now on, I'm always wrong, and you're always right. Don't let me forget that." She smiled back, and they began to plan out the defense of the Opera House.


	13. Vertigo

Yeah, I promised it, so here it is. I think that 'THREE POSTS' is a bit... overconfident. I'll see if I can get another one up, but eh. My sister's here from college, so you're really lucky that I'm spending time writing this instead of watching a movie with her. Well, actually, I don't really watch movies without something to do with my hands (normally painting miniatures), so it's not all that odd.

Oh, and it looks like these posts are going to be 1k words apiece. I know it's about half of what I normally post, but I'm at least posting. Heh.

XXXXX

Meg sighed and rubbed her eyes. Phelan had left to set up the traps. A soft smile wormed its way onto her features. Traps, in the middle of a theatre.She had long since given up on talking him out of them. Sure, the theatre was a high traffic area, but Phelan assured her that they wouldn't be... activated. _This 'Huron' guy has Phelan in a panic,_ Meg though sadly. She wanted to help, really she did, but there were times that she was overwhelmed. She hugged her arms to her chest, feeling the chill of the night air on her bare flesh. _Night air?_ Suddenly, she was wide awake. The curtain at her window flapped in the breeze, and she stood slowly. "Nightbringer?" She murmured quietly. No answer. No movement. She stepped closer. Suddenly, something blurred through the air. A howl of anger. She screamed. A horrible sound, like a bone breaking. She fell backwards, numb with pain. Gasping in anguish, she cast about for her attacker. Overhead, a white mask gleamed in the candlelight.

"Remember me, little dancer?" Warmth flowed down her arm, and she winced as she noticed the gash in her flesh.

"You. You're not welcome here." The masked maniac ignored her cold dismissal.

"And should I care? I think not. I'm here for revenge, nothing more. Revenge that you'll help me with. I want this 'Nightbringer' to suffer. No better way than to watch the woman he loves die." Meg spat viciously.

"You can go and f-" Before her curse could fully escape her lips, a blow to her head knocked her unconscious.

Phelan knew about the abduction before he even returned to the room. The old phantom wasn't amazingly good at hiding his tracks, and so it was easy for Phelan to find the pair. Erik seemed intent on hanging Meg from the rafters of the theatre, but wanted to make it particularly slow. That was the only thing keeping Meg still alive. Once again, Phelan thanked God for unimaginative sadists. He crept closer, closer, closer still. The mask bobbed in the faint light, and Phelan felt a brief wave of vertigo. He dared not look down and see the distance between the rafter he crouched on, and the stage far, far below. A silent leap brought him yet another rafter closer. He fingered the rafter thoughtfully, and suddenly smiled. He leapt forward yet again, but this time his jump was off. He skidded and nearly went off the edge. A gasp was all the warning that Erik needed. He flung the noose around Meg's neck, and kicked the unconscious young woman off the rafter. Phelan swore and bounded forward. A swift palm to the nose sent the masked phantom reeling, and Phelan leapt off the rafter, and drew a knife. A chop, and the hanging was averted. As he whizzed down towards Meg, he prayed that he'd reach her before the ground did. He reached out, stretching his entire body downwards. Suddenly, he realized that he'd forgotten something. The masked phantom above had thrown something... Time seemed to stop. So did his momentum. He gagged as the rope tightened around his neck. His fingers, so close to Meg's limp hand, jerked back. _Oh, shit. That masked loony must have slipped a noose around my... gaagh..._ He choked and drew his knife again. He hacked at the rope suspending him above the stage as his eyes tracked Meg's fall into darkness. He fell again, and suddenly a huge crack resounded through the dark chamber. Howls of victory and anguish rent the night in unison. Phelan spun in the air and threw his knife into the rafters. A second later, he smashed into the stage, and his world turned black.

Morning came with a splitting headache. Phelan sat bolt upright in bed, and gasped in shock and pain. His freshly-bandaged wounds tore open, and the pristine sheets were soaked in crimson fluid once more. A soft hand pushed him back onto the bed. "It's all right, Monsieur Doctor. You're going to be all right." He snarled.

"What of Meg?" Jaina smiled faintly.

"She's out cold, but she'll live. Luckily for us, she was unconscious. If she had been awake..." Phelan nodded slowly.

"She'd have tensed up and broken far more." Jaina hushed him.

"Try to rest, Phelan. You fell not half an hour ago. I'm surprised you're even able to move, but I guess I have to make some allowances." Phelan smiled at the younger girl.

"You trying to be a doctor when you're older?" She shook her head, and black hair swept her shoulders.

"I just want to learn how to help my friends." Phelan grinned at her.

"Well, you're definitely good at it. Thanks, Jaina. However, I'll be fine in a bit. Can I see Meg?" The girl glared at him.

"You're going back to sleep, that's what you're doing. You'll be able to see Meg once she wakes up, and you stop bleeding." He meekly surrendered.

"Yes, ma'am. I'm going back to bed now." Jaina raised an eyebrow.

"You're pretty passive for a vigilante." The Nightbringer shrugged.

"Meh. I've learned not to mess with determined girls. Wait, what do you mean vigilante?" Jaina shrugged back.

"You apparently managed to kill the old phantom. Everyone heard the story, though half of us should have been asleep." Phelan narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

"You included?" Jaina whistled innocently. Phelan laughed. "Well, I'm not mad. I'm not all that sad that Erik died, too. I shouldn't have killed him, but I can't do much about it now. I guess I'll end up being termed a murderer by the end of the week." Jaina frowned at him.

"Why's that?" Phelan shook his head wearily.

"No reason. I'm sleepy. G'night, Nurse Jaina." She patted his bloodstained, bandaged shoulder.

"G'night, Monsieur Doctor."


	14. Words of Darkness

Apologies, sincere apologies for the reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeally late update. I'll make no excuses. Some of you who check regularly may notice the 'author's note' chapters are gone. I was sick of my whining as well. On the plus side, I might actually get published sometime, thanks to the glories of National Novel Writing Month. I won! So, without further ado, here is what may end up being the final chapter of Night Lights. I hope you don't hate me by now...

X X X

Phelan stood outside in the cold night air, his fists clenching and unclenching. A foul stench was in the air. He suddenly spun and ducked. The twin blades scissored through the air mere inches above his head.

"Hello, Phelan. I'm here to kill you."

"Huron." The Nightbringer smiled. "It's so nice to fight someone honest."

The darkness parted to reveal a tall, tattooed warrior with a sword in each hand. "Indeed. However, I do not intend to kill you tonight. I admit, had you not noticed my approach, I would have gladly accepted your death. I trust you have... dealt, with Merinac?"

"That scum." Phelan snarled. "I have. He's currently on my shelf, spouting curses."

"Good. I assumed that you would dispatch him with pleasure. He has haunted my steps for too long."

Phelan grinned. "I'm glad to hear that at least someone else hates him as much as I do."

Huron spat. "I doubt I can match your anger, _Gaeric_."

"Do not call me that!" Phelan snarled. "I left that name behind me long ago."

"With the butchered bodies of your parents?"  
"Yes." The Nightbringer bared his teeth. "None of us is innocent."

Huron smiled. "How true. Now, you lead a life with kindness and friendship. If only they knew..."

"They will not." Phelan smiled grimly. "They need not bother."

Huron sheathed his weapons. "You go to your death willingly?"

"To my death? Perhaps." The scarred man glanced away for a second. "However, if it saves the others the grief and pain they would otherwise know..."

Huron drew a blade again. "You are a braver man than any I have met, Phelan. Even I dare not face his wrath."

"Wrath? I don't fear his wrath." Phelan sighed. "Huron, I bear you no ill will. The Packmaster controls us all."

"Perhaps he need not."

The scarred Nightbringer scoffed. "Our kind tried, once. Once. Now, we live under his rod without question."

"Why?"

"He slew the rebels mercilessly. Wolf on brother wolf, but where the rebels had the honour to fight unarmed, the Packmaster treacherously armed his guards with silver."

Huron nodded slowly. "So the rumours are true. The werewolf lord brooks no question."

"Indeed. I am surprised, though, that you come with tales of destruction and fire."

The tattooed warrior shrugged. "Indeed I do. It was my every intention to burn this city to cinders to drag you back to face the wolf-lord."

"It is true? Huron, you shouldn't have bothered. I know the law."

"I do not."

Phelan sighed. "Huron, among our people, it is heresy to mingle with the common human. To even tell them of our kind is treason. Treason is punishable by death."

"Then why did you do it?"

"Why should I have kept my secret? I tied myself to two women in there with bonds of friendship. To keep silent would have been heresy to myself."

Huron narrowed his eyes. "Even if it means your death?"

"I expected my death a long, long time ago. I face it with head high and hands at my side." Phelan scowled. "I just don't know why it took so long for him to track me."

Chuckling, Huron replied, "You're a very good tracker yourself. You took precautions, so the wolf-lord said. I imagine the Red Jaws themselves were called out to find you." His reference of the secret police of werewolves sent a shudder down the Nightbringer's back.  
"I doubt it. Huron, you will spare my friends?"

"I have no reason to kill them."

Phelan sighed. "For some reason, I trust you. Under different circumstances, we could be friends."

"Perhaps. Now, you travel to the wolf-lord?"

"Yes," the scarred werewolf replied. "The Packmaster calls me to face my death. Deliver this to the Opera House, will you?" Phelan handed the tattooed tracker an envelope.

"I will. Luck."

"Goodbye... friend." With that, both men disappeared into the night.

Well, that's about it for now. I've got a few other stories I'm starting, and for all I know, I might end up writing a short story about an underground werewolf society. Don't check this too often, because I'm starting to feel the strain of working nights and weekends on my writing, along with school. Luck to all of ye, but don't give up hope. Phelan may yet depose the cruel tyrant of the wolves!

Thank you all.

Kevin


	15. Darkness Descending

Okay, first off, I'd like to apologize for my severe lateness. I really wanted to update, but honestly, what with school and other stuff, I kinda messed up. Also, I really shouldn't have started work on another fanfic without finishing some of the loose ends I already have. Another also – I've been thinking more about my full-length book than anything else. Thus, the long delays. I apologize.

Anyway, back to business!

X x X

The note was short and simple.

-Meg,

I'm sorry that I had to put you through this. However, the fact is, I'm a dead man. Tonight, I'm leaving. Too many deaths would result in me staying. I want you to know that I have every intention of coming back. However, if I don't, I want to say that you're a damn good singer, and that you've got every reason to put your past behind you. That includes me. I wish I could stay, I do, but staying would put not only your life at risk, but this entire city at risk. To go willingly is the only way I can keep you safe. If I don't come back, don't think about me. Don't remember me at all. I'm one with the darkness, Meg. I'm a creature that could never stand the light.

I'm just a shadow of who I should have been for you.

-Nightbringer


	16. Closing Acts

Two Weeks Later

The Opera House was packed at six-thirty. Lights were flashing and signs proclaimed Les Miserables! Live tonight! As James Tomasson ascended the stairs to Box Five with six of his good friends, he couldn't wait to see the show.

As he opened the door, though, he stopped short. All the chairs and furnishings were gone, with only a single seat filled by a slumping black-coated figure. James hushed his friends and walked in. "Excuse me, sir, but I'm afraid you're in my box."

"This is Box Five, isn't it?"

James nodded, even though the probably-drunk man wasn't looking. "Yes, it is. I'm afraid your box is somewhere else. My friends and I bought this one for tonight's show."

"I don't think you understand." The figure never moved. "This is Box Five."

One of James' friends snorted. "Yes, it is. We bought it. Out of the way, old-timer."

"No, I don't think you understand." The figure hauled itself up to sit straighter in the seat. "This is Box Five." He stood slowly. "_My_ box."

"Now wait just a minute-"

The figure turned to face them, and they all shrank back in horror. Blood seeped down the ratty cloak that the man wore, pouring from cuts all over his hands, face, and arms, including more that the seven couldn't see. A terrible grin drew their unblinking eyes. "You don't understand. This is _my _box. For you see, I'm the Nightbringer."

"What in the hell-"

Phelan gestured to the door. "Out."

They ran.

Star Star Star

Huron dropped to the floor of the seating area as Phelan sat again. He chuckled. "I see you're still as crazy as ever."

"Indeed."

The tracker scratched his chin idly. "Y'know, I didn't think the wolf king was lenient."

"He's not. Also, he's dead."

Huron paused. "Really? I guess that makes you the new king."

"No. Apparently, traitors can't ascend to the throne, no matter how dead the old king is. Not that I'd want the position anyway."

"So how'd you escape?" Huron winced. "I don't remember the Red Jaws being lenient, either."

"They aren't. They stabbed me six times with their blades, and then threw me off a cliff." Phelan grunted slightly. "Luckily for me, they're not as thorough when they're pissed."

"Ah." The tattooed tracker hesitated. "So you're dead?"

Phelan laughed. The sound was soft, and something reminded Huron of a dying animal. "To them, yes. However, I've still got to see the show."

"That's why you came back?"

"Why else?" The lights dimmed. "Now, Huron, if you don't mind, shut up."

The tracker chuckled again and stepped backwards, into the darkest portions of the box. "Huh. As long as my ass is covered, I'll never see you again."

"Luck, Huron."

"Luck, Phelan."

He slipped out without a noise.

A/N: There'll be another, but I found out how to play Megaman on my comp. It'll be a bit.


End file.
